


It's the End of the World as we Know It

by LectorEl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe- future, Gen, Tim and Damian are the weirdest siblings ever, dark and cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no place on earth like Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the End of the World as we Know It

Tim doesn’t have an alternate identity anymore. After Dick died, Tim staged one last deception and Tim Wayne, last surviving member of his family yet again, broke down in his grief and retreated to become a hermit in Wayne Manor.

Tim goes out at all hours of the day and night, in his strictly functional grey uniform, and he’s never bothered to establish a name for the persona. There’s yet to be a consensus on what he should be called. Though most of Gotham’s criminal class seem to have settled on ‘that motherfucker’ as acceptable shorthand.

Despite the changes to its protectors, Gotham remains itself. Maybe even more itself than when Bruce was alive to cage its basest urges. These days, the monsters wear different eyes, dress in duller colors. The Joker rots un-mourned in Arkham’s graveyard, and evil is the bland, unremarkable face-shaped faces of the backroom dealers, profiting on misery.

Gotham was always destined to crumble into the sea. Even Tim can’t hold back the tide forever.

***

Tim nudged the kidnapper’s corpse with the toe of his boot. “In the future, please refrain from murdering people in my city.”

“-tt-,” Damian clicked his tongue. “Take care of them yourself, and I wouldn’t have to.”

Behind them, the small crowd of children watched, a certain quality to their gaze telling Tim they were taking mental notes. Several of Damian’s ninjas had already been bullied into providing piggyback rides.

Gotham’s children were, as always, _deeply_ special. Tim looked over at them, picking out which ones had been homeless for a while, which ones were new to it, and which had been lured straight from their unstable homes.

“How many of you want to go with the Demon’s Head?” Tim asked. Hands shot into the air, and Tim suppressed a smirk. Damian wanted to lecture him on how to run his city? Then he could try it for himself. Damian shot him a dirty look before turning to look at his youngest and newest minions.

“We’re leaving,” Damian said, doing his best to pretend he was only talking to the men he’d brought with him, and swept out, ninjas following, laden down with grinning children.

Oh, _Gotham_. Tim turned to the much reduced huddle of children. “I’m going to check the roof, and then I’m taking you to a Martha Wayne shelter. Anyone who doesn’t want to go needs to be gone by the time I return.”

***

Damian tossed his cloak over the back of Tim’s desk chair, and collapsed down on the bed with him.

“This city is insane,” he told Tim. Tim groaned.

“Tell me something that’s actually news, Damian,” Tim said. He shifted until there was room for Damian to lie down fully. A difficult feat, considering the bed was a twin Tim had bought after Alfred’s death.

“I’ve taken over Saudi Arabia. Oil exports stop in about five years.” Damian’s voice was smug. Tim snorted and buried his face in the crook of Damian’s neck.

“Of course you have. I’ll tell Tam to start investing in renewables.” Tim wrapped an arm around Damian’s waist. “Now shut up an’ let me sleep.”

Damian smirked and hugged Tim closer. Tim yawned, and shut his eyes, drifting off. When he woke up, the bed was empty, but the spot Damian had been lying in was still warm. Tim rose, dragging the blanket over his shoulders as he went. He shuffled out of the bedroom into the makeshift office he’d set up in the next room.

Damian was perched in Tim’s computer chair, reviewing the portfolios Tim had loaded onto his sandboxed computer.

“Hey,” Tim objected mildly. “That’s offline for a reason.”

Damian snorted. “A stupid reason. Who do you need me to kill?” It’s a mark of how soul-grindingly godawful the past few years have been, that Tim has to physically bite his tongue to keep from giving him a list.

“Don’t tempt me, Damian,” Tim said, collapsing onto the office sofa. Damian clicked his tongue.

“Seventeen children under the age of ten,” Damian said dryly. “I will have my revenge.”

Tim muffled a laugh in the crook of his elbow. “You needed new minions anyway.”

“ _You_ need new minions,” Damian shot back. He grinned. “I’ll send one back to you once they’re trained. It’s about time you got a Robin.” Tim threw a pillow at his head.

“Evil man. Get out of my city.”

Damian snickered and pulled on his cape. “Until next month, brother.”

Tim rolled off the couch and walked Damian over to the balcony. “As long as you don’t kill anyone when you visit.”

“Whatever you say,” Damian drawled. He hooked his line onto the outer railing and rappelled down the side of the mansion. Tim waited until he was on the ground to toss the line down. Damian flipped a careless hand in goodbye, and took off across the manor grounds. Tim shook his head, and closed the door to the balcony.

***

The next morning, three decapitated heads formerly belonging to a trio of mob bosses were on the floor of Tim’s shower. Tim’s lip twitched.

“Very funny, Damian.”


End file.
